This Rake of Mine (33 page)

Miranda struggled to keep up with Jack. She'd never seen a man so determined, as if he had the devil at his heels.

Even when Lady Josephine had told her that Jack was an agent with the Foreign Office, running operations from Thistleton Park, and, at times, going on missions into France, she hadn't quite believed it.

In her mind, Mad Jack Tremont was a devil-may-care rake, certainly not a man of action and danger.

Now here he was, charging into the fray like… like… well, like a hero.

Miranda didn't know whether to be terrified or to fall in love.

Terrified. Most decidedly. The latter had already happened.

For here was Jack, charming and heroic, elegant when he wanted to be, and even, on rare occasions, a gentleman, not to mention the power he could wield with his kiss—everything she had ever wanted.

And she'd been too blind and prejudiced to see it. Hadn't she known all along that something wasn't right at Thistleton Park? She'd jumped to an ill conclusion as to his character rather than give the man the benefit of the doubt.

If only he would be able to forgive her for what a mess she'd made of his life.

So lost in her thoughts, she didn't see that Jack had skidded to a halt at the foot of the tower. Miranda blundered to a stop behind him just in time to hear him curse, "Demmit! That bloody fool!"

She tried to catch her breath, to ask him what was happening, when a volley of rockets went screeching into the night sky and exploded overhead, illuminating the scene before them.

Halfway down the cliff path, a line of men—the militia—had the party on the beach cut off.

The rockets had done their work well, for Miranda could see quite clearly Lady Josephine and Felicity diving down behind a large pile of driftwood, along with two other men.

But there was no sign of Pippin.

Even then, Sir Norris gave the order to fire.

To Miranda it sounded like Wellington's entire army was upon them. Muskets and pistol shots pierced the night.

Her heart stilled, until another rocket exploded and she could search the beach anew—this time seeing Pippin lying in the sand at the water's edge, a man covering her.

"Jack!" she said, pointing toward the waves. "There. Dear heavens, has she been hit?"
No, not Pippin
, she prayed, her knees faltering beneath her.

Bruno, Birdwell and Tally arrived just then, and it was evident they'd seen Pippin as well, from the shock on Tally's face.

"We're too late," Miranda whispered.

"No, we're not," Jack said, turning to Birdwell. "How many pistols do you have?"

"My usual," the man said.

Jack nodded. "Good. Give me two of them."

The once staid and proper butler threw open his coat and revealed a stash of weapons that would put a regiment to shame. Pulling two large, wicked-looking pistols free, he handed them over to Jack, who tucked them in his waistband. "Careful with that one on the left," Birdwell warned. "The trigger is a bit touchy."

"Excellent," Jack said as he hefted another pair. "I'll point it at Sir Norris's head." He turned to his secretary. "Can you shoot, Bruno?"

"Not with me good hand," the man said. "I fear my aim might be off."

Jack nodded and took the next pistol that Birdwell offered and handed it to the man. "No matter, I don't want you to hit anyone."

"Whatever do you think you are going to do?" Miranda asked as she found the next pistol from Birdwell's stash thrust into her hands.

"We are going to give Sir Norris a lesson in military planning."

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked.

Jack handed the next pistol to Tally. "Do you know how to fire one of these?"

She nodded, a look of determination in her eyes.

"Foolish of me to ask," he said. "You just broke me out of jail."

"Jack, what do you think you are going to do?" Miranda said, catching hold of his arm. "March down there and order Sir Norris to cease fire?"

Then to her shock, he grinned at her. The dark flash of his eyes and deep crease to his brows made him look as wicked as Lord Douglas's portrait in the gallery.

"That's exactly what I plan on doing." He reached over and cocked the pistol in her hand. "And you are going to help me."

Miranda knew this man would never change.

He would always be Mad Jack Tremont. And that gave her more courage than if they'd had the King's army behind them.

Sir Norris stood in the middle of his men, ordering them to continue firing, to cut off the longboat from leaving the shore.

"He's got a king's ransom in gold in that boat, I wager, and I'll give twenty guineas to the man who—" His words were cut off as he suddenly found an arm wound around his throat and a gun pointed at his temple. "What the—" He twisted his head around until he could see his assailant. "Tremont, you devil! Let me go!"

"Good to see you, Sir Norris," Jack said. "Now stand down your men, or I'll blow your head off."

"You wouldn't—"

Jack pulled the trigger back and grinned. "I wouldn't wiggle about too much, for I was told this pistol is a bit touchy. Has a terrible habit of just firing."

Sir Norris gulped, then called out his order. "Stop! Stop, I say," he squeaked.

"Louder," Jack told him, shaking his hand and the temperamental pistol.

"Hold your fire," the man screeched. "Do it."

Jack dragged the squire back a few feet, so all of his men could see him. "Tell them to put down their guns."

"Tremont, do you think you can take my entire militia single-handedly?" Norris said, his initial fears wearing off enough that he could finally find some courage. "Once you kill me, they'll cut you down like a dog."

"But I'm not alone," Jack told him coolly. He tipped the baronet's hat off his head with the muzzle of his pistol.

A second later, shots rang out, and bullets pinged and spit up sand all around the militia. That was enough for the local lads—they tossed aside their issued weapons and ran into the darkness, most likely not stopping until they reached the cozy confines of their cottages.

Apparently not even Sir Norris's offer of twenty guineas was worth losing their lives to an unseen force.

Not to mention the fierce sight of one of the Mad Tremonts brandishing a pistol.

"Brave lot," Jack commented as the last of the men were encouraged to leave by a few well-placed shots. "Loyal as well."

"You'll hang for this, Tremont. Mark my words. Years of smuggling. Now you can add to it interfering with the King's business. Not to mention threatening the King's appointed agent," Norris blustered.

"I could add killing the King's appointed agent if you don't shut up and listen to me for a demmed minute."

Norris, never the brightest of His Majesty's appointed lot, wasn't about to stop. "Oh, I should have seen you swing for your aunt's murder, but this… this… is the final straw."

Jack shook his head and began to tow his prisoner down to the beach. "Sir Norris, I didn't murder my aunt." They stopped when they reached the rocky shoreline. "Temple? Aunt Josephine? Are you well?" he called out.

"Jack, my boy," his aunt called back. "Is that you?"

"Aye, Aunt Josephine. 'Tis me. It's safe to come out."

"Lady Josephine?" Sir Norris whispered.

As the lady rose up from behind a log, the man sagged against Jack in shock. "But it cannot be!" he protested. "You're dead."

"Sir Norris, still as slow-witted as ever. Do I look dead?"

The man shook his head. "How can this be? What trickery is this?"

"No trickery," Jack told him. "But may I introduce you to the other King's agent in the shire—my aunt, Lady Josephine."

"A woman? An agent of the King? Preposterous." Norris protested, more vehemently than he had to the news that Lady Josephine was alive.

"Norris, you are a nitwit. I've been working for the Crown for nigh on forty years."

"Lady Josephine, that is the most unseemly thing I have ever heard," he told her. "I fear I will have to withdraw my attentions from you."

"I thought I had already done that by dying," Lady Josephine shot back.

Jack wasn't about to listen to another word of it. "Is everyone safe?"

"Seems to be," his aunt said, nodding toward Felicity and, to his relief, the Marquis of Templeton, along with the other agent they were awaiting, the Earl of Clifton.

Jack's heart constricted when he saw Clifton. He and Grey had been partners.
Had been
.

That still left one more person to find. Pippin.

He twisted around toward the water's edge, where he'd last seen her, and he heaved a sigh of relief as he saw Dash help her to her feet. But his relief turned to something else as he watched the cheeky American captain take the girl into his arms and look like he was about to…

Jack suddenly knew what Mrs. Mabberly must have felt when she'd spied her daughter in his arms that night at the opera. Four words came to mind as he realized that Dash was about to do the same to Pippin.

Over my dead body.

He shoved Sir Norris into Temple's grasp and marched down the beach, cocking his pistol and aiming it at Dashwell. "Get your hands off her, Dash, or it will be the last thing you do."

The American heaved a sigh but brazened another quick peck before he shoved Pippin toward Jack, then dove into the waves, swimming for his longboat, which awaited him about twenty yards out to sea.

"Later, my sweet Circe," he called out. "I'll find you again, very soon."

"Come along, you little siren," Jack told the blushing girl as he towed her up the beach.

Pippin's gaze never left the waves, not until her pirate was well and away.

Bruno, Birdwell, and Tally were just arriving, leading a ragtag prisoner.

"Who've you got there?" Jack asked.

"A Frenchie," Bruno said. "Miss Porter heard 'em talking fancy like near the tower, so me and Dingby decided to delay this one a bit." Even one-handed, Bruno Jones was a force to be reckoned with. "Miss Porter is fetching the manacles out of the tower."

"Well, well, well," Jack said, turning to the baronet. "Consorting with the enemy, Sir Norris?"

"I don't know who that fellow is," the man blustered. "Never seen the bastard before in my life."

"Who the hell are you?" Jack demanded.

"My English, it is not so good," the man said, struggling to escape Bruno.

His lack of English was about to become the least of his problems.

Jack caught the small man by the scruff of his neck and raised him up until he stood on his tippy-toes. "Hear me well, monsieur," he said in perfect French. "This pistol is not all that well made. French, I believe. And sadly, I am not very good at using it. A dangerous combination, don't you think?" He lifted the fellow up a little higher until the man's feet pedaled in the air. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Go to hell," the man spat.

Jack pulled back the hammer and laid the muzzle to his temple. "You first."

"Jack, don't kill him," Lady Josephine protested, also in French. "We'll never get what we need from him if you kill him. Besides, it's a good six hours before the tide gets up and carries his rotten carcass out to sea. If you must shoot him, take him down to the water's edge."

The man looked ready to soil himself as both aunt and nephew argued the best options for getting information out of him but also killing him in the most efficient fashion.

That is, until a shot rang out, taking with it Temple's hat, and nearly his head.

"That was a perfectly good hat," the marquis lamented as they all dove down. Another shot ripped into the sand around them.

"Sir Norris, call this fool off," Jack said. "Call off your militia."

The Frenchman laughed. "That is no Englishman, but my partner. Prepare
your
soul for a journey to hell, monsieur."

«
^
»

M
iranda made her way up into the folly and got the sea chest open once again. It wasn't as easy in the dark, so she paid extra heed as she carefully removed the small powder keg and coil of fusing wire, tucking the flint into her pocket, before she rummaged around for the manacles.

The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally blow up the place.

Down below she heard the door creak open.
Jack
. She turned to call out to him, but something inside her made her stop.

What if it wasn't Jack?

Then Lady Josephine's warning from the other night rang in her ears.

I have it on good authority we are being watched.

Bruno had been able to sneak up and catch that French fellow who'd been loitering nearby, but what if that man had a partner?

Footsteps echoed on the stairs, rising closer and closer.

Oh, demmit
, she cursed, where had she set her pistol down?

Unable to find it, she caught up the powder keg and fusing coil.

And what are you going to do with these, Miranda?
she asked herself.
Blow up Albin's Folly? And you along with it?

She looked around in panic for a place to hide and cautiously and quickly tucked herself behind the sea chest, next to the opening in the floor. Hopefully whoever it was would not see her and she could slip past them.

And still the footsteps came closer.

She tried to breathe but couldn't. It was like a chess game. One move, then the next.

And the best move was to be prepared, her father had always said.
Think, think, think
. Why is someone coming up here?

To signal a ship offshore? Not with everyone on the beach, she reasoned. A signal lantern would draw them up to investigate.

So why come up here, when they would be in plain sight?

She drew a shaky breath as one reason became clearer than any other. Whoever it was would have a fine view of the beach below when they reached the top of the tower. And a clear shot at the people below.

Miranda's heart chilled. Jack. The girls. Birdwell. Lady Josephine. She even gave Mr. Jones and Sir Norris a moment of consideration. They were all in danger.